


An Absence of Belonging

by cosmickaiju



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Character Study, Dissociation, Dr Nyarlathotep, Gen, Identity Issues, Introspection, Nonbinary Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 06:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14562936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmickaiju/pseuds/cosmickaiju
Summary: Once, they had a wondrous ship, and all of reality at their fingertips. Now, they've hardly got a single planet.





	An Absence of Belonging

Sometimes, they find themselves wandering the streets of the city, the rhythmic sound of their footsteps a punctuating reminder that they’re stuck here, alone, in this ever so slightly different universe. They don’t sound right, don’t feel right, the thud of concrete underneath their trainers, rather than the gentle clank of their ship’s metal grating that they used to hear when they grew restless, needed to move, needed to _run_ but couldn’t quite bear to leave her presence. 

Once upon a time they had infinite rooms and hallways to roam through, blissful gardens full of plants and butterflies, towering shelves of books, even the occasional room full of meaningless items to break in a fit of anger, all underlaid by the warm, enveloping hum of their TARDIS. Now they’re relegated to sidewalks and parks, to the sounds of traffic and the presence of other beings around, no gentle, soothing hum in their mind. 

Sometimes, they walk (and people automatically give them a wide berth, and part of them enjoys it, because at least they still have that presence, if nothing else), all brisk motions, and sharp, determined footsteps, and anger burning deep in their chest, at their situation, at being trapped here, at their past-present self who’d stranded them here, at every situation they couldn’t change. The rage burns so strongly in this body, it always has, since they’d sprung into existence on their ship (both times, once with two hearts, a second time with one), and it was only harder to keep a handle on now. They want to let go— want to unfurl themselves and scream, truly scream on all the dimensions they exist on— until maybe _She_ hears them, until they aren’t trapped on a single planet in a universe that always feels slightly _off_. But they can’t— they couldn’t do that to the humans, not to mention they’re not even sure they still could scream even if they wanted to— they still haven’t got a handle on this body’s existence conceptually, let alone the full control they once had— like they’d been in an accident and had to relearn all over again how to ride a bike— but they just couldn’t. And that in turn only makes their rage burn brighter.

Sometimes, they run, eyes closed against the world, yet still somehow aware enough to move with a sort of ease through the city they don’t quite know, and that soothes them a bit, but not remotely enough, in their futile bid to run, to flee, to _escape_. They know it’s pointless, that their silly, feeble little half human legs don’t have any sort of ability to get them any sort of place that isn’t still on this terrible little alternate planet with its slightly tweaked rotational speed (and as much as they hate these minuscule differences, the loss of all their senses would be infinitesimally worse). They run until they’re away from everything (or, well, as much as they can be), or until their muscles are burning and their breathing isn’t quite so easy (it’s not quite the same in this form). 

They find themselves all sorts of places— a peaceful clearing in the woods, where they clamber up into the limbs of a tree, staring up at the little bits of tree they can see through the leaves, until their body succumbs to its exhaustion and they get a few peaceful moments of rest. A rooftop with old half used cans of paint scattered across it, thin shaking fingers sketching memories across the concrete in blurs of colors, because they just need them _out_ , indecipherable to any other eye. A long forgotten pond, a few moments of peace in the water, looking around at the fish darting around them, the sun forming swirling shapes in the water that distantly remind them of the vortex. A tiny, well meaning cat shelter, hours spent amongst the cats, a simple care they can provide without more being expected of them, and a volunteer who doesn’t quite have the heart that evening to wake them from their brief nap underneath several of the resident animals. Assorted brief moments of respite. 

It’s never enough to make this place feel like _home_.


End file.
